


The Ice Queen and I

by thestrangehistorian



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1990s, Canon Compliant, Cohabitation, Doing What Needs To Be Done, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Relationship Study, at this point probably tbh, is it historical if its the 90s?, look as far as i'm concerned it's a damn shame we never got a comic about this, so here i am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-14 22:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13599354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestrangehistorian/pseuds/thestrangehistorian
Summary: America doesn't know the first damn thing about Belarus - but he does know Lithuania, and if Lithuania vouches for her, she can't be that bad. Besides, it's not as if he'd refuse the opportunity to help a newly independent, post-Soviet country on the way to a democratic government! What's a few months of Belarus as a roommate?In other words, remember that one time Himaruya mentioned that America and Belarus canonically lived together? Because I sure do.





	The Ice Queen and I

After the pick-up game, America and Lithuania got breakfast at a nearby diner. Lithuania ordered plain toast with butter and jam to go with a strong black coffee.

“Do we have time for this?” he asked nervously.

America checked his watch. The opening remarks were due to begin in thirty minutes.

“Plenty of time!” he declared, digging into a stack of blueberry pancakes. “You sure you’re not hungry, man? I’m buying, so it’s no trouble.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Lithuania said. He closed his eyes and seemed to come to a decision. “Actually, I had a favor to ask you. A, um, personal favor?”

America reached for cream and five sugar packets for his coffee.

“Sure thing, ask away!”

“I was wondering if you would consider allowing Belarus to live with you – just for the summer, perhaps. Maybe for the rest of the year?”

America set down his fork, frowning.

“You and I are thinking of the same Belarus, right?”

“Russia’s little sister.”

“She’s the one with the…” America mimed a violent stabbing motion with a butter knife.

Lithuania stiffened and said hastily, “She does carry a knife for self-defense purposes, yes.”

“Look, I’m not judging her for that,” said America, raising an eyebrow. “Definitely not judging – I say good for her – but let’s be real. She does this –” He mimed the stabbing again. “– in the middle of talks about the Refugee Convention and – listen, those tables are expensive, okay? I would know, I’m pretty sure I paid for most of them –”

“I think it will be good for her,” Lithuania insisted. “The sunshine, the fresh air. A change of scenery. I know that it helped me a lot, back after the Great War.”

“So, wait – did she ask you to ask me about this or are you just…?”

“I am asking on her behalf.”

America sat back. “So she has no idea that you’re doing this?”

“I just want to know if you’ll do it,” Lithuania said. “Nothing’s set in stone yet. I just thought I would ask since she’s been so –”

The waitress reappeared with a fresh pot of coffee, easing the tense pause before it even began. Lithuania racked a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Ever since the war she’s been…”

“Okay, back up – which war? Is there a war I’m forgetting?”

Almost instantly, America regretted his words. Lithuania’s expression clouded over and his lips pursed.

“When – when Germany’s former leadership,” he said delicately, “came for Russia, Belarus volunteered to stand with her countrymen. They were like the first line of defense in the Soviet Union. And she was… punished for it. It seems that the regime had an active policy on the subjection and enslavement of her people.”

“Jesus Christ,” America muttered.

“Looking back, it explains everything,” Lithuania fretted. “At the time, I had no idea. I only saw the full extent of it recently, when I found some old reports in my desk. But when she came back to us she was – changed. She’d always been more dependent on Russia than the rest of us but she started clinging to him in a way that was just – genuinely unhealthy. And now I’m worried – you know – about how she’s going to deal with the changes that are happening. As far as I’m concerned, it’s her government and her choice but… mentally, I think, she’s struggling. She’s in pain.”

“I don’t know, man.”

“I think it would be really good for her,” Lithuania said again, eyes shining with renewed hope. “I don’t know if there’s much that I can do to help her anymore. I don’t even know if she would let me help her. But you – you could. Like the way you helped me.”

America felt a twinge of discomfort. “I mean, I tried to help. But you just did all that cleaning…”

“The least I could do!” he insisted, as he always did. “After the Great War, I had nothing and no one. But you treated me as a friend. You took me into your home and tried to help me in whatever ways you could. That gave me a purpose again – something to work for. I’ve never forgotten that. Don’t you realize what you represent to this world?”

America did realize – and frankly, that scared him most of all.

“Well…” he said.

Lithuania added, “It would only be temporary, of course. I’ll be helping her as much as I can from home – but I think that some sunshine and a change of scenery will do her some good. Just for a few months. You can even help her sort out her new constitution. We’ll ease her back into her independence – just for a few months! You’ll do it, won’t you?”

There was something about Lithuania. He was so genuine and chivalrous – truly a product of a more romantic, bygone era. Looking at his face, there was no doubting the sincerity of the love and care he had for Belarus or just how much faith he had in America’s ability to do the impossible. It had honestly killed America to send him back to Russia, especially knowing all he’d gone through at the former empire’s hands. And Lithuania didn’t even despise him for that. If anything, his resolve had only grown stronger. It felt like a thousand years since they’d last had a good, long conversation – a day in the sun, like this. America wasn’t sure he could help Belarus. But even after all this time, America just couldn’t say ‘no’ to Lithuania.

America sighed. “What the hell, I’ll give it a shot.”

* * *

Belarus flew into Dulles at the height of summer. America waited for her in Arrivals, holding up a sign that read, “WELCOME TO VIRGINIA, NATALIE!” in large, glittery letters. The glitter was chosen mainly because the Dollar General had somehow forgotten to stock multicolored markers. In the end, America rather enjoyed the silver and pink effect. He hoped Belarus would appreciate it – but judging by her face, she did not.

“You misspelled my name, кретин.”

Lithuania had assured him that Natalie was a perfectly valid nickname in Russian, and "Natalya Arlovskaya" wouldn’t fit on the sign anyway.

“Well, I just thought, since we’re going to be living together –”

“Be aware that this wasn’t my choice,” she said, a snarl in her voice. “I have been forced into exile into this wretched country and I have no wish to prolong my stay here. Don’t think I don’t know your tricks. You won’t fool me with false kindness or sympathies. I’m sure you’re well acquainted with my aim by now, кретин. If you try anything – and I do mean anything – I swear that I will end you. And I swear that it will not be easy. A long, slow, painful death… yes, I think that’s what you deserve.”

America dropped his welcome sign, slack-jawed with astonishment.

Several people – including families – were staring at them.

Awkwardly, he bent to pick the sign up, forcing a laugh.

“Whoops, got glitter all over the place now. Hah, well, nobody told me about your killer sense of humor! That was a good one. Really – uh – original! Let’s just – go get your bags, okay?”

Belarus indicated the neat little carry-on bag in her hands.

“I have brought everything I need.”

America stared at the thing, noting the obvious wear and tear. “Uh, are you sure? It… might be a few weeks at least. You know, before you can travel back to your country.”

Belarus stared coldly back at him until he was forced to look away. She didn’t resemble Russia very much at all. She was dainty as a ballerina, almost doll-like between her modestly old-fashioned dress, porcelain complexion and the ribbon in her silvery hair. Amazing that this tiny, delicate-looking girl had accomplished in three minutes what her far more physically imposing brother hadn’t managed in over fifty years: Inspiring a genuine sense of fear in the United States of America.

“Of course, you can go shopping for new clothes any time you want! And if you need to, I’ll buy you some new suitcases,” America declared hastily, beckoning her forward.

“Okay, so I guess we’ve waited around here long enough, let’s go!”

* * *

 America's current residence was a re-purposed farmstead nearly three hours outside of DC.

"Built in 1872, so it's super old!" he told Belarus proudly, not noticing the way she rolled her eyes. "I can't believe they were gonna tear it down, it's such a nice place. I mean, all it took was some adjustments to the plumbing and the circuits and _voila!_ It's a beautiful area, too - lots of space. There's this cat that lives in the area and she likes to sleep on my porch. I call her Snowball but she doesn't like to come into the house too much, which is fine cause there's plenty of other shelter-type structures in the area. I even use the old farmhouse for my projects. I build my own computers, you know? And I'm getting pretty good at it but mostly it's just me restoring old cars. You know I built this car myself? Well, not from scratch obviously. It's a '76 model, but I dug it out of this junkyard in Detriot and you know, all it takes is a new coat of paint and some adjustments to the engine and -"

"Do you ever shut up?"

America felt his buoying enthusiasm wither and die.

"Sometimes," he said meekly.

"Hmph," said Belarus, and probably would've said more, if a sudden rumbling noise hadn't interrupted.

America turned to look at her.

"Eyes on the road," Belarus snapped.

America turned back to the road. At once, Belarus's stomach growled once more. This time, America stole a glance in her direction, watching as she pursed her lips and pressed her hands to her midsection.

"So, uh, are you hungry?"

"No."

America didn't believe her in the slightest. "Did you eat on the plane?"

"I'm not hungry."

"How about before you got on the plane?"

"Keep driving," said Belarus, wincing as her stomach loudly rumbled for a third time.

"Okay," America said, pulling to the side of the road so that he could search for an exit.

He did keep driving, but only until they'd reached a McDonald's.

It was probably a bad idea to bring Belarus to one of these. She looked even more annoyed than usual, eyeing the bright colors and the plastic chairs with obvious disdain. America reminded himself that this place was really an example of amazing business practices, and besides, it was cheap and filled your stomach, so who really cared about tacky plastic chairs or mascots? Food was still food. He ordered two of the same meal, a soda for himself, and grabbed an extra cup for water. He figured that he shouldn't push his luck too much with this girl, and she seemed upset enough about the thought of _eating._

He set the tray down in front of her, and waited.

Belarus picked up the cheeseburger and examined it doubtfully.

Hoping to encourage her, America unwrapped his and started to eat.

"This is disgusting," Belarus declared. "Is this what passes for food in your country? My brother always said -"

"Look," said America, swallowing quickly. "I'm gonna be real with you here - I'm not leaving this place until you eat something."

"I would have been perfectly fine waiting."

"Well, it wasn't okay with me." Contrary to the now-popular belief, America was no stranger to hunger. Before the twentieth century, he'd come close to starving several times. Now his country produced enough food to feed the world. Imagine, exporting food! Two hundred years ago, it would've been impossible. He could not, in good conscious, allow a guest to go hungry. Even if said guest was Russia's lunatic sister. "I'm not making you wait when you're clearly hungry. And don't," he added, "lie and say that you're not. Because I can tell that you are. Look, you don't like me, and that's fine. Just eat one bite and then we can leave."

Belarus stared at him for just a minute too long.

America huffed in annoyance and gestured to the pile of fries.

"Here, eat one of these. They're potatoes, and you like potatoes. Eat."

Another long moment. Belarus took a fry between her fingers, examined it, and took a minuscule bite from the end.

She chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

Then, she reached over and grabbed America's carton of fries, adding it to her plate.

"Hey, y -" America bit the inside of his cheek, weighing his natural instinct (she'd _blatantly stolen_ the delicious fries he'd bought _for himself,_ with his _own money_ ) against the fact that Belarus was hungry, she needed to eat, and now she was. "That's fine," he decided, grumbling. "You know what? It's fine."

Belarus polished off the fries in moments and licked her fingers clean.

The extra hamburger lay forgotten.

* * *

They arrived at the house as the sun was going down. America had already prepared his spare bedroom for Belarus, but since he didn't know the kinds of things that she liked, he hadn't decorated it much. Her heels clicked over the hardwood floors as she stepped inside, examining the plain chest of drawers and the simple sheets, which were white mainly because he'd already had these homey-looking white lace curtains put in and they matched.

"It's not much," he said apologetically, holding the door. "Um, we can get some other stuff to fill the space -"

"This will do fine."

Belarus did not sound irritated with him. In fact, those words almost sounded like a compliment. Maybe having some food had improved her mood.

"Really? But there's hardly any -"

"This is more than enough," said Belarus, fixing him with a hard look over her shoulder. "Don't try to buy my goodwill, you capitalist pig."

America raised his eyebrows. Plenty of people thought he was a capitalist pig but he was pretty sure nobody had ever called him that to his face before. Not even Russia.

"Okay," said America uncertainly, shuffling his feet. He hadn't even put in a rug. Belarus wasn't quite as far north as Russia but still, would she be alright when the nights got cold? He hoped she had warm socks. "Um, I'm going to make some dinner. You want anything?"

"Eating again," Belarus said with a sniff. "You really are greedy."

It had been a long day of driving and America was too tired to argue with her. What was the point? Lithuania thought she was the queen of the universe but she was stubborn as a mule. Actually, America had known a lot of very friendly mules. Belarus was...

Well, she was Russia's sister, that's for sure.

"Suit yourself," said America. Then, because he wasn't confident that someone could be full after eating only fries, he added, "I'll leave the leftovers in the fridge downstairs. What's mine is yours - except for my ice cream. And my cereal. And - well, I'll label the things I don't want you to eat. But everything else is yours. Um..." He tried to think of other things she'd need to know. "Bathroom's down the hall on the left, and I usually keep a light in there because the hallway's a little uneven and it's easy to trip. I sleep on the first floor, so if you need anything..."

"I'm fine."

Not even a thank you. America sighed.

"Well," he said. "See you tomorrow, I guess."

Later that night, America woke up randomly and went to get a glass of water. He found Belarus at his kitchen table, gnawing on some of the chicken he'd made earlier. The fridge was hanging open, the yellow light casting Belarus in an almost alien glow. She glared at him with her mouth still full. America eyed the plastic container where he'd portioned out the leftovers; it was nearly empty. She'd eaten the vegetables and potatoes first. She hadn't even used a fork or reheated any of it - she just ate with her bare hands. And she still had on her clothes; it was like she hadn't even slept at all.

America got his glass of water, said, "Good night," and went back to bed.

It was going to be a long few months.

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few reasons I decided to write this fic: One was the initial diner scene between Liet and America (I also take my coffee with cream and hella sugars, rip); another was the McDonald's scene between America and Belarus (short, sweet, and the essence of their relationship tbh); and the other was the proposal scene (spoiler alert?). I really think that AmeBela is the kind of relationship that could use a little more exploring! Their dynamic is awesome. However, all my ideas were really scattered for awhile and I didn't get the motivation I needed until I - by chance - learned about the response of Belarusians during WWII. Belarus was occupied by Nazi Germany for the majority of the war; 209 out of 211 industrialized cities and towns were turned to rubble and about 1/3 of the population was killed - the Jewish community in particular has never recovered. 
> 
> It's crazy how little we seem to talk about Eastern Europe just - in general. It's one of my Special Geographic and Historical Interests (along with East Asia); I just find this area very rich, historically and culturally speaking, something that's so worth exploring. Anyway, I could talk about this forever but this will just be a double-chapter fic. I hope that you all have enjoyed and catch you next time!!!


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